


Enraptured

by crimsonadvent



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alternate Universe, Archer feels, Arlathan, Arrows, Chauvinism, Choice of Murder Weapon, Conflict shipping?, F/M, Game of Tag, Gore, Hunter Lavellan - Freeform, Hunters and Wolves, Might get smutty, Morbid, Seduction Game, Wolf and Huntress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonadvent/pseuds/crimsonadvent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fen'Harel is hardly interested in the normal things. Arlathan has lost that appeal to him.</p><p>However, that was about to change. Andruil comes along, bringing a young elven hunter with her. Unfortunately, he did not expect to see a woman ever rise to such a position. He had thought of playing around with her of course. This young elf was a unique snowflake after all. First, he had aimed to spite Andruil. </p><p>Tricks and his little mischief in garnering more of the huntress' attention made him curious. Who was she? How was she so detached? He didn't expect to be so piqued with her but little by little, his little mischief made him so enraptured.</p><p>Arlathan setting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

A rabbit trotted along the meadow; unaware of the danger it hopped itself into. It was innocent and pure.  Its large eyes caught sight of a silver glint before life faded in them.

 

An arrow shot through its head.

 

The nearby shrubbery rustled and a young elven girl, in her late childhood years, emerged. A simple oak bow in hand with a quiver of arrows slung across her chest. So innocent but her eyes were cold, as if judging her prey.

 

She made her way across the field, the soft blades of grass tickling her bare heels not changing her demeanor. She was impassive, not even the warm light of the morning sun beamed her up. A young huntress with all her focus was on the bleeding prey in front of her. Carefully, she dropped the bow beside her; mindful not to step on the wood.

 

A small calloused hand plucked the animal by its ear while the other one yanked the offending object out of its head. Blood splattered on her drab clothing but it didn’t matter, she had to continue her hunt.

 

“Lady Andruil, I offer this animal to you.” A soft whisper to the passing zephyr.

 

She produced a knife from her hip and stabbed the rabbit upon its midsection.Her small hand dragged the blade down, spilling guts unto the green grass. The child dropped the weapon and plunged her small hand into the cavity. She maneuvered her small fingers along the innards, looking for something. Finally, she found the soft tissue. Grasping the faintly beating organ, she wrenched it out of the rabbit; painting herself in more animal gore.

 

She eyed the object in her blood soaked hand; a small heart. The young girl lifted it up, hoping that the goddess she had offered her kill to, gift her with praise but there was no sound. She frowned; the hunters did tell her the goddess always guided hunters on their first hunt. Fiery locks bounced as her eyes surveyed the meadow.

 

_Nothing._

 

She frowned and threw the organ at the grass in annoyance. The hunters had lied, Andruil had not guided her in the hunt. She wanted to stomp on the offending organ; it mocked her, mocked her beliefs, mocked her efforts. She praised the goddess so much. Colored her in her thoughts with the sun’s gold and the silver of the moon but it all amounted to nothing. Her small foot rose in the air and posed above the rabbit’s heart to crush it beneath her heel. But she stopped, footsteps resounded behind her.

 

Not one but many.

 

She placed her foot down and turned to the newcomers, they were the hunters. They stopped midway, shocked at the gore she was drenched in. They composed themselves but continued their way towards her, their movements were wary. A dozen eyes darted from the rabbit in her hand to the bloody mess adorning her. _Her first kill._

 

“Da’len.” One spoke, his voice choking in emotion. He raised his arms towards her, as If in comfort. His rough hands settled on her small shoulders, eyes glittered with tears.

 

“Your Mamae. She…” He trailed off and the young girl held a look of confusion. “Mamae?” She spoke, her tiny voice a little high with innocence. He stared hard at her, unsure if he should be telling her.

 

“Your Mamae, she’s been sacrificed.” He spoke, sorrow laced in his tone but the young child beamed. Her smile baffled the hunters, why was she happy? “She’s helped the goddess!”

 

They stared at her as if she was the Dread Wolf herself. She beamed at them, the blood caking on her skin as the morning light bathed them.

 

Yes, she was different.

 

\--

 

Andruil stood with her back towards her guests as she tipped the torch enflamed with veilfire unto the pyre. If one were to describe the goddess, one would lose articulation. Andruil was a tall slender woman, gifted perhaps in the right places. She held high cheekbones, a dainty nose and a confident mouth that always voiced out her opinions. Waves of red tresses cascaded down her shoulders as emerald green eyes shaped like almonds saw the fire burn with its sacrifice.

 

The hunt had ended and the bodies burned at the pyre to commemorate the end of the celebration. Various oils were drenched on the cadavers, bringing out the scent of embrium and deathroot around the garden.

 

Andruil gazed at her servants, enjoying the thick scent of fear and admiration from them. The stench of burning bodies perfumed the high walls, misting out the late afternoon sun’s rays around them.

 

To her right, her elite hunters stood, rigid and with their weapons strapped proudly to their bodies. Her emerald green eyes studied them, she had been told of a young child under their guidance.  She bid them closer and they moved at her command.

 

“ _Uth’ren._ ” A hunter spoke and she sent her gaze along his way. He stepped aside to reveal a young bloodsoaked girl beside him. In her arms was a deceased rabbit but the goddess brought her gaze to her  hands for they held a small heart. She smiled and bid the child closer.

 

The young elven girl bounded to her, her eyes shone with mirth and her steps with excitement. She stopped in front of Andruil, her hands raised the bloody organ. It was now cold.

 

“Lady Andruil, my first hunt for you.” The high notes of the child’s voice was a delighted change to the usual baritones of her hunters. The immortal bent down and cased the organ in a soft green orb, her magic levitating it off the child’s bloodied hands. Residue blood started to fill the bottom section of the orb, the rabbit’s essence a familiar sight to green eyes. So this was her first hunt.

 

“Tell me child, who are you?”

 

The young girl was silent, musing at her name. Slaves never had the right to have names but inherited their parent’s. With the recent passing of her mother and by the laws set by Elgar’nan, her name would be of her mother’s.

 

“Lavellan, my goddess.”

 

Recognition flashed in the green irises and an amused smile flitted to Andruil’s lips. Fingers hovered about the orb, tipping it off as a small hole appeared at the side. Cold animal blood spilled unto Andruil’s fair-skinned palm, tainting her flesh in red.She cast a silent fire spell, delighting in how the magic coursed through her fingertips and ignited the cold liquid.

 

“Lavellan, shall you set each arrow straight and true?” She dipped a dainty finger unto the warmed gore. The child named Lavellan gaped at her goddess, a strange emotion in her eyes, “Yes, _ma uth’renas_.”

 

Andruil bid the child’s arms lower and traced the warmed blood on the young girl’s face. The magic burned Lavellan’s freckled skin, it tore at the flesh. No sooner the blood markings on her face slithered, warping into curves and familiar points. Andruil drew back her hand, proud at the way her markings shone on the young girl’s face.

 

The immortal huntress had a new devout.

 

**Uth’ren = Uth (eternal/never ending) and hren (respected person)**   
**Uth'renis and Uth'renas (God, Goddess**


	2. Mona Lisa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon’din devoured the sea of followers into his fellowship. He was a greedy man, one who would take a lost soul under his wing. He who is kin to Dirthamen harbored secrets but his brother kept them for him. For Falon’din knew the dead do not speak so easily in his presence.

**Chapter 1: Mona Lisa, I’d Pay to See You Frown**

 

It was on Falon’din’s festival that he first saw her.

 

Fen’harel was not one to engage himself in idle chatter but he would not turn down having someone to warm his bed. He was a rogue, that he knew he was. He tipped the half-empty goblet upon his lips, delighted on the taste of wine to further lessen his inhibition. He was not one to be drunk but a little wine could help him pass Elgar’nan’s judgement of his _dreadful_ nature.

 

He licked off the last drop of the wine Falon’din’s servants offered him, relished on the taste for the night. Large hands drew back the goblet and he settled it upon the marble table provided beside him. Mischievous blue eyes studied the open garden, the gentle moonlight illuminating tonight’s festivities.

 

The raging glow of the pyre lighted the entire setting, its raging flames casting wide shadows on the tall columns covered in ivy. He mused at the slaves dancing in front of the blaze, their skin painted black from the ashes of the morning flame.

 

There were a number of bodies laid dead or bleeding to their demise below the pyre. He did not envy the traitors under Falon’din’s name but he could appreciate the thought of them as worthy sacrifices to appease the dead. Ah, such was the tradition for the Night of the Dead.

 

Blood pooled on the marble flooring, washing the granite in crimson waves as slaves murmured their prayers and loyalty to their god. Their voices mixed with the soft strings of the lyre was tonight’s music, a grim reminder of their servitude to the pantheon.

 

The wolf did not find value in the slaves, only amusement at their mortal nature. Was he not a god himself? He took liberties when he could but a slave girl was a passing dalliance he’d amuse himself often. That was his nature, however he never kept his share of slaves. He was amused at their efforts of life but he could never bother himself with followers. He was a vagabond where no temple he could rest himself.

 

He sat languidly on his seat, eyeing the gods and goddess in the celebration. Odd, it appeared Andruil has not yet arrived. He had a penchant of annoying the huntress, as if their very nature could be changed. He rose from his seat, careful not to let the blood touch the plush fabric of his robes. Fen’harel made his way around the pyre, eyes drawn to his frame as the Dread Wolf hardly graced Festivals.

 

The vagabond found the host of tonight’s celebration and made his way towards his brethren but stopped. Eyes were drawn to the tall white spires adorning the eluvian to the garden. The purple surface shimmered and Andruil emerged.

 

She was as Fen’harel remembered her to be, clad in an air of authority and the biting edge of her blade found when she spoke. Ever the familiar huntress to the pantheon she was. She was graced with her elite hunters, clad in their armory and a fresh piece of butchered halla in their bloodstained arms. So this was her offering for tonight.

 

Falon’din rushed to greet Andruil in welcome as the hunters assembled behind their goddess. “Andruil, it is a pleasure you have come to grace us.” The soft voice of the god wove soothing tunes while his twin brother, Dirthamen, watched in silence by the side.

 

The immortal huntress nodded her head in appreciation and gestured to her hunters, “My gift to you, Falon’din. May you guide the souls to the great Beyond.” Mirth brightened the god of death as he took in the sight of Andruil’s prized animal. He stepped aside, giving passage to the elven warriors.

 

As if pulled by a string, they moved towards the pyre, hefting the pieces of meat in their arms with pride. Ladders were procured for them to offer the tribute to the flames, the hunters made quick work of their task. Each male dropped the meat to the blaze, the flames reflecting its thanks in their eyes.

 

The cacophony of voices rose at the new tribute, their prayer sung with more fervor as the fire licked at the offering. The fumes from the burning meat was not unpleasant, most likely perfumed by the goddess herself.

 

Fen’Harel made his way towards the columns, watching but not too obvious in his study. The blaze sputtered, flames rising higher in acceptance of the Halla. They shuddered once more, the color of the fire shifting to a cool blue.

 

A wave of gasps and ‘ooh’s echoed around the garden, Andruil liked to show off. He felt a little envious that his gift was a measly elixir of life that he had concocted with the aid of a Spirit friend. However, the envy was short-lived as the flames sputtered and tore the meat asunder. It grew into a fierce blame, peppering the blackened slaves with burning ashes.

 

They wailed in pain but did not cease their dance as the fire emblazoned its presence on Falon’din’s followers. The flames swerved left and right, etching an image upon the air.The fierce glow of the fire left a golden trail, drawing a familiar beast that had been offered a moment ago. A Halla.

 

Its pelt was burning gold, lighted by the odd flames of the pyre. Wise eyes focused on the goddess who offered it, an odd emotion alight in its dark pupils. The phantom jumped off the pyre, gracefully landing on the pool of blood. Panicked shrieks from the slaves erupted and Fen’harel laughed at their fright, such petty mortals.

 

It galloped upon the long trail of blood, its destination towards the immortal huntress. The wolf leaned on the tall structure, an amused grin painted on his face. Blue eyes appraised the beast that bounded to the goddess, its twisted horns posed towards the being. He had expected it would attack Andruil but no, in fact it did not.

 

It trotted to her side as if seeking the goddess attention but it wasn't. Instead it nudged its small nose at Andruil's side, revealing a slender elven clad in the armory of the goddess' elite hunters. The crafted armor accentuated her slender body but he was slightly miffed by the cowl that covered the newcomer's face. His eyes trailed to her hands, they were bloody as a heart lay upon them.

 

The Halla trotted around her, igniting the bloodied path in a soft purple flame. It did not deter her, despite the halla’s horns posed to pierce her flesh. The petite huntress merely lowered her hands as the Halla inspected its once beating heart. It prodded the organ with its nose, igniting it a soft orange.

 

The flames devoured the heart in a moment, soft orange on bright red muscles. The Halla nudged the flaming organ yet again but this time, the bright flames dispersed. The pyre was once orange and red, the pool of blood blackened with flame and the young huntress hands still bloody with their murder.

 

Falon’din looked please at the entire spectacle but his interest was to the woman beside Andruil. “I have heard of your new hunter but I did not expect a female could grace such a task.”

 

Andruil looked smug and turned her gaze to the newcomer, “She is indeed one of my hunters, Falon’din. A fresh face to my hunters.” She looked amused, as if there was humor in the collective name of her elite. She had her fair share of bedding hunters but this truth was tightly hidden. Rumors were always quashed beneath her wrath, that or the hunt would always run its course.

 

“ _Da’assan_ , if you please.” She spoke warmly, almost acrid at the term she used.

 

The cowl that shadowed her features was pulled off and Fen’Harel could now appreciate her face. He could almost say she rivaled Andruil had she not donned the goddess’ markings on her face.

 

Short fiery hair, hacked recklessly by a knife, pointed everywhere. It framed her face but not enough to call her dainty. He could see a dusting of freckles on her face; they stood out from her pallor a warm color under the moonlight. Her cheekbones were high but not too distinct while her lips were temptingly kissable.

 

But if Fen’harel had to confess, it was her eyes that drew him. They were clear, almost blue but silver under the moonlight. Wide eyes that reflected the moon’s beauty, cold and impassive. She was Andruil’s teachings personified and he could not help but chuckle to himself.

 

Andruil must be proud to shape this girl.

 

The markings on her skin were a deep gray. Blue eyes followed the familiar curves and sharp points inked on her skin; they hid her features quite well. A scar upon her right brow hardly changed the design but it did spoke of this huntress’ past wound. Despite her cold expression, she held a certain air of pride in her status, as would a hunter under Andruil’s fickle eye.

 

The Dread Wolf pushed himself from the column and made his way towards Andruil, eager to learn more of her new devout.

 

Oh, he was amused. He had a new toy to play with.

 


	3. I Wanna See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'harel seeks out the little huntress that Andruil so fondly kept at her side.

**Chapter 2: I Wanna See the Dirt Under Your Skin**

The soft swish of fabrics brought all attention to the newcomer, Fen’harel. Falon’din smiled warmly as he let some space to guide the Dread Wolf into their conversation. Andruil raised a haughty brow at the arrival of the Wolf, he was not one to mingle with his kin on these kinds of celebrations.

 

“A delight to have you here, Fen’harel.” Andruil mocked, her tone acrid but still cordial. If Falon’din or Dirthamen noticed, they paid it no heed. This was a common within the pantheon. The fabled wolf smirked at her ire but focused his attention to the elfling.

 

She was more pleasing up close, he told himself. Her short hair was indeed unruly but despite that her features were effeminate. “I’m surprised you’ve taken a female huntress. Tell me Andruil, are you planning to bed her as well?” His wolfish grin was plastered victoriously on his face.

 

His blue eyes could not miss how her cheeks flushed pink. Ah, so the rumors were true. Fen’harel shifted his gaze to the goddess, his eyes dancing with amusement. Oh how would the huntress weave herself out this time?

 

“I’m appalled you actually heed some useless gossip, Fen’harel. I did not expect a god as yourself to feast upon such lies.” She hissed, offended of the accusation or at the truth that had been circulating for some time. Dirthamen was silent but his eyes darted between the two elves, secrets hidden beneath his pursed lips. He knew secrets but he kept them well.

 

Falon’din eyed the tension between them but coughed behind his fist, “Andruil, I would be delighted to learn more of your new aid.” He didn’t call her a hunter, in his eyes females should not be drenched in gore or in battle. Andruil was an exception. Elgar’nan had tried to quash the wildness of her spirit but he never won.

 

“No need to be too touchy, Andruil.” Fen’harel’s tone was mischevious as he sized himself up, “A playful jab is my intent. _Ir abelas_ , for any insult you might have received.” This was a mockery but Andruil didn’t take on the bait. She new how to play The Game after all.

 

\--

 

Lavellan’s silvery eyes shift from the gods, she did not like being the center of attention. Of the twenty summers she had grown, she was never apt in dealing with the tirade of the elven pantheon. True, her favored goddess had always kept her close and guided her in the manner of the hunt, but never was she blessed in dealing with the court. How could she? She was born a slave with the quiver of arrows as salvation to the grim fate.

 

She shifted her feet, a display of anxiety that Andruil has countlessly failed to remove from her. She shifted her gaze towards her fellow hunters, they had indulged themselves on the meat and wine for the celebration. Jealousy prickled on her skin as she wish nothing more than to excuse herself from their presence.

 

A dainty hand perched itself upon her shoulder and the gods shifted their attention to the individual behind her. Lavellan’s own curious eyes peeked behind, awed at the brilliant beauty of the All-Mother, Mythal.

 

She had never seen the mother goddess but words could not hold the beauty of this goddess. She held a warm smile, lighting up her soft features in a light you wanted to bathe in. Her golden hair framed her face while loving azure eyes appraised the young elven.

 

The unwanted attention was beyond Lavellan could deal with and Mythal must have known. “My, quite a curious troupe we have here.” Her tone was light, and she steered the young hunter away from the gazes of the pantheon. “Go feast, _da’assan_. You have earned your keep.” He slid his hands off the huntress and flashed a smile to everyone in the small gathering.

 

Lavellan raised her eyes to her goddess, ever faithful to the hunt. Andruil held no power over Mythal and with a pointed gaze, she dismissed the young elven. The young huntress bowed to them before making haste to the platters of food laid for the night.

 

She did not know how vital she was in The Game.

 

She picked up a grape from her platter and bit on the exquisite fruit. It was a luxury to have these meals.

 

Lavellan had never considered her status as Andruil’s devout hunter to partake in the festivities best suited for the gods or higher echelons of their society. This odd game that populated everyone’s lips was strung high in the air.

 

She pushed the remainder of the fruit, relishing on the sharp tang on her tongue. Her clean hands was a sight she often see. Despite being able to cleanse herself each day, the blood would taint her skin so deep. Sometimes she felt it mocked her, this life, this status. Sometimes the animals she slaughtered would creep in her dreams, taunting her, drenching her in her own blood.

 

But Andruil would whisper them away, sometimes the darkness creeped up on her. Sometimes, she felt it grip her, strong and choking. At certain times she would walk up, hands bloody from the scratches on her arms or gripping her hunting knife so tightly.And they tell her she was special, such is a lie spun by those in awe of her status.

 

Her eyes darted back to the elven pantheon gathered before her. Their beauty was ethereal. Mythal was a mother as the tales spun of her. She was warm like the sun that roused Lavellan each morning.

 

Falon’din’s pale pallor did speak of his tidings with the dead. His ebony black hair cascaded in a stream down upon his back. His eyes were a hollow gray, as if the color of the spirits he ferried into their end. He was tall with soft features much like Mythal. He swathed himself in dark colors with a dash of light green, as if the colors of the Beyond adorning him in its glory.

 

Dirthamen was of equal pallor, pale and swath in dark fabrics. His eyes were a deep black, endless of the secrets they hold. He covered himself with much fabric that it was hard to determine his physique. From the stray locks of hair, his tresses were just as black as his twin.

 

Fen’harel. Lavellan could not help but let a rare smirk paint her features. He held an air of arrogance as if he was entitled to the pleasures for his godhood. He was tall, much taller than Andruil but not of Falon’din. His skin was sun-kissed and a small skull adorned his forehead. His hair was a rich black and tumbled at a side in waves, so unruly like his nature. The wolf.

 

In truth, Lavellan was enamored of him, this Dread Wolf. He was a lone man, one who did not hold his share of followers or colored priests. Odd, how one as linked to the wild as he was, did not crave for followers. A wolf needs a pack, does it not? It perturbed her and piqued her curiosity greatly. A god who squandered so much time in dallying with strangers, feasting on the festivals and causing mayhem in Arlathan.

 

That was his story.

 

It was confusing. She never understood the spark of curiosity he ignited within her.

 

_End notes:_

_Slaves never had rights to names but are provided with their parent’s names once the predecessors pass away. For a time, children are considered by the colors of their hairs or their eyes. Only when their parents are dead are they branded into slavery or under the devotion of their chosen god or goddess._

 

 


	4. How to Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wolf seeks out the hunter.
> 
> This is something like a chase and the start of Fen'harel's game. Feel free to leave your comments, I always love reading them.
> 
> Thanks for your support!

**Chapter 3: Show Me How to Lie, You’re Getting Better All the Time**

 

The resounding thwack of the arrow hitting the wood was a reassuring sound upon Lavellan’s ears. She relaxed her posture, the familiar ironbark bow gifted to her gave her a respite from yesterday’s festivities.

 

She eyed the markers on her target, a little irked at how her shot was a little off from the vital. She was unable to focus as she usually could. The huntress inhaled deeply, relishing at the crisp scent of the herbs around her. The birds sang soft tunes above the high canopies as the morning light filtered down from thick boughs.

 

Calloused fingers trailed down her thigh, fiddling on the thick ram leather of her quiver. She trailed the pads along the rim, eyes still judging the wind and the distance of the target.

 

Strange, there was no wind today.

 

Shrugging the absence of the morning zephyr, Lavellan fingered the feathers of her arrows before picking one. She raised the bow as her grip on the arrow settled in front of her. She pulled on the taut string, the feathers tucked between her fingers. Sharp eyes trained on the target but everything felt off, something was missing.

 

She brushed the incessant thoughts aside and steadied her aim. _Pierce straight and true_. She spoke of it as a prayer to each arrow upon her bow, each kill in her sight. Just as Andruil taught her. And she released, the bolt flew with a sharp push from the string.

 

 _Straight_ , as she was taught and it pierced the vital mark of the target. _True_ , as she aimed.

 

A rare smile lightened her features and this time the huntress relaxed her arms, settling the bow by the thick roots of a Sylvanwood. She flexed her fingers, enjoying her early morning ritual.

 

She raised her arms and stretched them overhead, appreciating the pop her shoulders made. Gray eyes surveyed the area studied the dense foliage. Nothing was amiss but she could tell today would be different, “It’s a pleasure to have someone watching me, _ma_ _uth’renis._ ”

 

The forest shivered, as if the surface of the lake rippled by a thrown stone. The green brush beside her shook. The scenery shuddered once more and like a mirror, cracks appeared and they fell apart. Fragments of the illusion dispersing to reveal the Lord of Tricksters himself.

 

“My, I did not expect you to notice me, huntress.” His deep husky voice dragged each syllable as if teasing her. She watched him, wary but also amused that he would find her. Oh why would a wolf find a hunter? It was confusing but a welcome thought.

 

“I would fail as an elite to not notice you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned all her weight on a single foot, making her hip jut out; it was an arrogant move made to mock the god. But who could tell her off? Andruil kept that confident streak on her, “ _livened up the hunters”_ she had once said. “However, why is a member of the elven pantheon stalking a hunter ”

 

“You humor yourself, _da’len._ I am merely having a stroll.” He chuckled, amused at the confidence she exuded. “Is this god no longer welcome in the forest?”

 

She wrinkled her nose, annoyed at the pet name he had given her. She was no longer a child but she would humor him. Gods do not walk so casually in the forests of Arlathan, much less the Dread Wolf himself.

 

It was an odd spectacle, this god. He was clad in silken fabrics, careful not to let mud upon the plush clothing. Thick fur wrapped around his shoulders, the word wolf immediately sprang to her mind as if every fiber in him screamed at it. His dark hair tumbled in thick locks, down the right side of his face, a curtain that could hardly hide the smirk he plastered.

 

The rebel god made his way, graceful in gait. His every step was measured and every move of his body held an air of arrogance. Maybe that was what confounded her, the very thick aura of his arrogance. Magic sizzled the air, perhaps his incantations had unsettled the natural elements but instead of being on-guard, Lavellan was in awe.

 

Andruil, despite her divine status, hardly made use of magic in the sport of hunting. Fen’Harel, however, flaunted the very magic of his blood in spurts of ice and sizzling electricity that crackled in the air. Her silver eyes were drawn to his display, in awe of the show he provided her.

 

He stopped in front of the huntress, deep blue eyes shone with mischief.

 

Oh how she was so easily amused.

 

\--

 

Fen’harel merely wanted to watch her as she drove each arrow from her bow to the target. Of course, he did not know she had been well adapted to the feel of magic to announce his presence. Not that the god himself was even trying his best to hide his presence.

 

It did not come off as a big shock that she could sense him, she was an elite huntress after all. But Fen’harel could not help but appreciate her innocent awe at marveling how simple magics could catch her off-guard.

 

Such a sheltered soul. And it provoked him even more, the more innocence in that hardened soul.

 

He fell in step in front of her, amused at the difference of their height. She was a head shorter but her silvery eyes did not back down from his gaze. She was like Andruil’s sister if not for her markings marring the flesh. His hand cradled her chin, turning her side to side as he scrutinize each dip and slant of the brand.

 

“You wear it proud.” He mused, eyes tracing the markings on her flesh. She scowled at how he gaped at her marks, as if they were so uncommon. “Will you please unhand me?” She spoke, polite but acidly. His eyes sought hers, they were filled with amusement. “You don’t sound convincing, _da'assan_.”

 

Narrowed silver eyes stared back at him, and she clutched his wrist with a tight grip. It didn’t hurt him but he couldn’t help indulging her effort. Painting an illusion of pain at her grip, he loosened his fingers and even grimaced at her grip. He was awarded with a smirk from her as she guided his fingers away from her face.

 

She held his wrist tauntingly, her eyes shone with triumph. Oh but he was just playing around with her of course. How can a mortal truly best a god? His pained expression melted into amusement and this time his long fingers caged her wrist. “Did you truly believe you have me so easily, huntress?” His voice caressed her skin, bubbling with seduction.

 

He stretched her arm with little effort as he neared her, his breath tickling the flesh beckoning goose flesh. His blue eyes captured her gaze and he could not help but tease her. A wandering tongue lapped at the skin of her wrist as she watched him. She pulled on his grip but it was futile. Despite the magic coursing in his veins, Fen’harel had his share of strength.

 

“Oh, how fun you truly are.” She glowered at him, fury coursing in her veins at his words but he didn’t know that. And he trailed his lips towards her digits, innocent of how red they truly were.

 

She gritted her teeth and with her free hand, she shoved his shoulder away. It caught him off guard. His fingers slid from their grip and she jumped back, wanting as much distance from him as possible. To put more salt to the wound, Lavellan wiped the damp skin of her wrist. His blue eyes flashed from her arms to her eyes, he had regained his composure.

 

“I never caught your name, _da’assan_.” He spoke, a teasing tone laced in those words. She straightened herself and let a rare smile flit to her features as she pieced a response in her mind. “That is because you never caught it.” She was witty, this pet of Andruil and by instinct his hands shot out towards her but she evaded them.

  
She would not be fooled a second time.


	5. I'll Keep You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the wolf finally catches up the huntress, his teeth upon her flesh.
> 
> Much graphic sexual themes. There is an underlying tone of an underage witnessing fornication but its slightly a dubcon. There is not smut here, just implied scenes.

**Chapter 4: I’ll Keep You My Dirty Little Secret**

 

Her bare feet skidded upon the mud, her legs decorated with lacerations from the shrubberies she weaved through. Frantic silver eyes inspecting every shred of the foliage as the mischievous god who had usurped her morning was chuckling at her. She notched one arrow, aimed high at the canopies filtering the strong glow of noon.

 

She released the taut string and focused as her arrow sang through the air. It drew a straight path, whistling its progress towards the branches but it bounced off. The sharp sound of glass cracking under the metal tip echoed within the forest while the illusion rippled from her attack. The colors of the canopy shimmered and pale fragments of the barrier fell towards her like shards of the moon.

 

Fen’harel’s frowning face was her reward. The tables had turned somewhere along the game. She was never the one to run away and maybe he was always the one who was chased.

 

He needed her name but why was she chasing him? She couldn’t piece the words but the thrill of the hunt made her high. His use of magic had fascinated her, piqued her interest that she had turned the tables in their scuffle. He baited her quite a number of times and she always tried to grasp them, the little treats he set for her. Was she truly a huntress?

 

She grasped the fallen fletching and notched it upon her bow, pleased with how the tight the string was underneath her fingers. She unlatched her fingers from the weapon and watched in appreciation as the arrow soar higher but it didn’t hit Fen’harel as she had hoped. His long robes dangled down the high branches, still retaining a state of elegance despite the nature of their game. He hardly broke a sweat on his brow while she was littered with scratches from the scuffle.

 

He effortlessly caught her arrow in his hand, smiling at how her attempts to hurt him were fruitless. His long fingers gripped the object, blue eyes studying the item with glee. He had to admit the invisible barrier slowed the speed of her arrow thus making it easy to catch the arrow. He broke the projectile in his hand and then shimmered out of view.

 

She glared at the empty branches and cursed lowly at his ability to use such magic. She almost felt jealous, almost. She closed her eyes, letting the forest tell her where he was. Soft rustling of the leaves carried by the wind and soft bubbling of the creek nearby was a pleasant thought. There would be some hallas find refuge from the noon sun there.

 

She focused further, trying to broaden her ability to track through the aid of nature’s melody. _There._ She spoke in her mind as she finally heard the soft padding of sandaled feet. She honed in on that particular sound as it drifted farther away from her. She pressed her fingertips on the ground, feeling the echoes of his steps. She tried her best to pinpoint him, gauging the distance of each tree and shrub within her wake. No sooner, silver eyes opened and she smiled to herself. She would find him, this Fen’harel.

 

_It’s a gift._

 

Her goddess had told her back then. A gift to find her prey, something that Andruil had blessed her with. Her fellow hunters had been envious of her skill but did not dwell upon the emotion. She was a pretty little thing, as they said. Ever curious but silent on the lips. After all, she was not the one that Andruil indulged most of her attention too.

 

She was in her adolescent years when Andruil had stopped from excusing her during their nightly _meetings._ Of course, it had appalled her at first. She didn’t know what to do but the hunters had initially forced her to watch, tainted with an odd kind of darkness in their eyes.

 

They had pulled on her once, whispering their pleas upon her ears but she always ceased them. An arrow pointed upon their crown for emphasis always worked. For despite her ever curiosity, she never envied the twisted looks on their face or how their sweat-slicked bodies moved in pleasure.

 

She could never understand the strange gratification in their actions but Andruil had chided her one day. “In time, da’len, you will understand.” Her _uth’renas_ had held her chin, garnering much of her attention while the men dressed in the background.

 

She shuddered at the memory. True, the darkness did fade when morning came but it was always unsettling but it didn’t change Andruil. Her goddess was still the beacon she followed and her words, the backbone to her identity.

 

She shook the thoughts out of her mind and steadied herself, he was a few steps away from her. Lavellan crouched low, eyes straining to each small movement within the vicinity. It was silent, far too silent to be the forest.

 

 

She brought her weight upon the balls of her feet and lunged towards a certain direction. She half expected a barrier to meet head-on but her fingers brushed on plush fabrics. Her arms wrapped around his midsection as he emitted a surprised cry.

 

She had him.

 

\--

 

He honestly did not expect her to find him. He could surmise that Andruil hardly used magic in hunts; it was a petty way to hunt after all. However, Fen’harel could not mask his surprise when she lunged at him, her sinewy arms wrapping around his torso. It had baffled him, how this young elven huntress could see through the mirage.

 

"I've caught you." She spoke, her voice was a low murmur as silver eyes danced with triumph. She stared at him, right through him perhaps. He was her prize, the prey she had fought to catch.

 

And she did.

 

Her tone was a wanton caress on his skin, and it truly ignited his interest as well as his arousal. But of course, he too can play her game. Just as she wound her arms around him, he wrapped his own limbs around her in kind. The tall god bent down, his lips a mere breath from her ears.

 

“So it seems, but I have also caught you as well.” He languidly drew back and let an amused smirk graced his features as her own expression filled with indignation. Her arms slackened around him and she tried to wriggle herself out, it was a painful task.

 

He had to grit his teeth in frustration as her lithe body rubbed against him in the most inappropriate of places.Yet the Dread Wolf never released her, he could not help but relish the glares that she was sending his way.

 

“So this was your game?”

 

“Indeed. You fell right through it did you not?” His tone was mocking and strained, he could not just ravish her. No, that was not how he played his games. His share of women would come willingly, not like how his brothers would have theirs.

 

It sickened him, bedding elven slaves who screamed for respite from their cruel fate. He shook his head, that was a tale left for another time.

 

Now, however, Andruil’s little arrow was his entertainment and oh, she was enflamed.

 

Her small hands fisted on the fabric of his clothing and her small feet pressed upon the green grass. She pushed him roughly against the tree, knocking the very wind from his lungs. Oh she was interesting. “You never did tell me your name. If you would, I might loosen my arms around you.”

 

“A hunter never gives their name to their prey.” She spoke, her voice seeped through gritted teeth as her silver eyes shone in her anger.

 

“Was that what Andruil taught you?” He chuckled, “Then again, your prey never live to know your names, I presume?”

 

This time she let a feral smile on her lips, “Not all prey die in our hands, Wolf.” Ah, so he calls her wolf. He let a wolfish grin appraise his lips in play with her chosen name. “Pity. Andruil never teaches you about magic.” He tightened his arms around her, bringing her closer to his lean frame. Yet again his lips found her ear but this time he let his lips press upon her lobe.

 

“A pity what you miss out on, little huntress.” The soft touch of his breath on her flesh make her shudder but she shrugged off the sensation so easily. He gaped at her, trying to gauge her reaction but she was emotionless. Almost like a doll save for her sharp tongue and her occasional burst of the hunter’s instinct. She was more tool than elf.

 

He stepped to the side, bringing himself away from the trunk. Her hands pressed upon him, errant on trying to corner him like the animal she believed him to be. Her feet shuffled underneath her, stepping over undergrowths and the sharp prick of stone as she pushed him, a wall, a ravine, anywhere.

 

He could hear the bubbling of a stream nearby and he flashed her a wolfish grin as his sandals met no ground beneath them. The god pulled her small frame to his as he felt the wind whipping on his skin. She did not scream but he felt amusement as she closed her eyes and how her knuckles were white as she held on.

 

She was not too far gone it seemed.

 

He cast a barrier around them, grunting at each time his body collided with the steep ground. Each sharp rock elicits a cry from her but his arms were quick to shield her from any further harm. A splash echoed throughout the foliage and Fen’harel found himself underwater, he choked on the water and arms flailing everywhere.

 

He tried to find a sure footing on the rocky ground but his sandaled feet slipped and he cursed inwardly as more of the water rushed into his mouth. The male elvhen briefly wondered how the huntress was doing. Only then did he notice the absence of a figure in his arms nor was he holding on to anything.

 

The wolf opened his eyes and found no elf in his arms. He panicked and righted himself upon the gravel-filled ground. Blue eyes fell upon the stream as he braced himself against the current; his large palms fell upon the shallows.

 

He sputtered, coughing out the water he had swallowed.  The god haphazardly crawled to the shore, cursing at the weight his clothing was giving him. He did note the loss of his favorite pelt in the spectacle. He’d find that pelt, somehow.

 

Fen’harel breathed in, relishing the sensation of air filling his lungs. He found a familiar set of feet in front of him, damp with their recent obstacle. A smirked flitted to his features. Forgoing his usual grace, he pushed upon the earth.

 

Fen’harel chuckled as he spoke,“It seems you’re unscathed, you must be th-”

 

His lips found hers, pressed accidentally in his ascent. Had she not been bent inspecting him, he would have avoided this entire experience. Fen’harel could feel how rigid she was with her lips pressed above his. There were no coherent thoughts in his brain, just the one word so blatantly running it course.

 **Kiss**.

 

He had to be surprised and he could see so was she.

 

The huntress was bent down towards him as her body leaned from the shore. Her usually rebellious crimson hair clung to her sharp angled face; accentuating her long ears. His eyes trailed a little lower; appreciating how her clothes stuck to her lithe frame.

 

He drew his head back; he should have done it sooner. Eyes wide; and what was that odd warmth creeping upon his cheeks? He was at a loss, embarrassed probably. She was frozen, her posture still the same, silver eyes so wide they could rival the moon. The huntress gaze shifts from his lips to his eyes, a number of times.

 

Unfortunately for her, he recovered quite easily and the walker of the Beyond trudged further to shore. He was all soak clothing and damp flesh, his thick locks plastered upon his tanned skin. “Speechless, huntress?” He grinned at her, her cheeks inflamed but still very much frozen in her stupor. Her hands clenched and unclenched, emotions raging in her gaze.

 

“Now, will you tell me your name?”

 

“Lavellan.” She spoke it so quickly he almost didn’t catch it.

 

Lavellan, so that was her name. Once the name left her lips she edged away from him, confusion so deeply etched on her features.

 

This time Fen’harel did not hesitate. His warm hand took her chin and he whispered upon her lips, “You’re supposed to close your eyes when you kiss.”

 

The Dread Wolf no sooner followed his breath, lips upon hers and he waited. Deep blue eyes studied silver as she watched him. He felt her tense under his touch but no sooner her eyes drifted shut and he felt the tension slowly ebbed away.

 

The trickster followed his words as he kissed her, warm lips pressed against the cold wind’s touch.

 

He had finally caught her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> I was a bit scared of posting this chapter. I'm not trying to provoke any hate on me, I just really want to explore and provide more context why Lavellan is the way she is. If it came as offensive, I truly am sorry and did not mean it that way.
> 
> If you have suggestions about the story, please do let me know. I love hearing feedback.


	6. You Down Until

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan muses about the kiss they shared this morning. A little perspective on her life as a lone female huntress under Andruil's fickle eye.
> 
> Warning: Abuse in-coming and slight smut.

**Chapter 5: Chase You Down Until You Love Me**

Lavellan paused, thoughts in disarray as her mind toyed around with the memories that transpired during morning.

 

Her fingers traced the soft flesh of her lips, wondering how odd the sensation had been, how foreign. It was peculiar, like two pieces of a whole joined together. She remembered the way his lips felt against hers; hot and rough, almost craving her own. The first one had been an accident, it was fumbling and unsure. It spoke of her inexperience and how a god could be caught off-guard. But he removed that stigma and lived up to his nature when he claimed her lips once again.

 

_You’re supposed to close your eyes when you kiss._

 

He said those words so casually, given how much of a womanizer he was. She couldn’t help the prickling sensation that he left on her lips, was that part of his magic too? The way his taste rolled off of her tongue, like the sharp sting of spices and well-aged wine. He was a deep flavor, one she didn’t think she could get accustomed too. She feared she’d never lose the familiar taste on her tongue.

 

She could still feel the way his smile ghosted over her skin. If she looked closely, his hand left imprints of his mana on her skin. A soft whisper but she couldn’t take him out of her thoughts.

 

She raised her gaze to the leaves around her, the soft breaths of her companions falling into her hearing. The young elf was thankful Andruil had never brought her affections to her, only that of a mentor to a student. The goddess only reserved that affection to the males. Lavellan didn't envy them though, the way the men move their bodies and faces crumpled with their passion.

 

She couldn't help but wonder if intimacy was truly as _delicious_ as they had told her. The young huntress shook her head; there was no need to have such wandering thoughts taint her mind. They were hunting for supper and it would be a shame to go back empty-handed.

 

Her bare feet settled upon the smooth surface of a moss-ridden stone. Her eyes were fierce in the darkening sky but it was not a disadvantage to the huntress. Her silver eyes shone through the shadows the dark sky cast upon her. The soft sounds of the forest were her melody for the night.

 

The crunch of dead leaves beneath her fellow hunter’s feet echoed through the clearing. Scampering of small paws on the grass made her know there was prey nearby. She took one arrow from her quiver, enjoying the sharp sound of metal against the woven container.

 

Nimble fingers perched the arrow against the bow as her fingers pulled the string, the thread sings under her fingers. “Lady Andruil, my aim be true.” She releases the fletching and it soars to her prey. Behind her, arrows are free from their bows and they rain upon the creature their gaze has fallen on. Pained cries erupt in the air and once again there was silence.

 

A sigh escaped her lips as she relaxes her stance, “That is all for tonight.” Her soft voice causes the various hunters to relax and they peek out from their locations. Some held grim looks, envious of her rank, above her while some held a resolute face, thankful of the task to be done.

 

“Hare and halla for tonight.” Another hunter emerged from the bushes. He was holding some rabbits in his hand while a slain halla was tucked under his shoulder. His eyes studied the group, falling upon the lone female. He was tall, well built with the familiar strokes of vallaslin in dark green on his angled face. He had earth brown hair and eyes that shone blue in the night, Tamlen. “Nice shot, Lavellan. Hit him dead in the eye.” He raised the halla a little higher, taking great notice at how the arrow embedded itself in the creature’s head.

 

“Never a missed shot, huh?” A fair-haired hunter spoke, his vallaslin a sharp red against his tanned skin. He toys around with a dagger, waving it around like it was a toy instead of a weapon. _Argus_. The notorious sword tongue of the lot. “I do keep wondering what’s inside that pretty little head of yours.”

 

He stalks towards her, intimidating her with his height but she was hardly fazed. The blade posed along the smooth column of her throat but she didn’t move. Cold silver eyes studied him, watching his every detail. “You should not do that Argus, our lady doesn’t-”

 

“Silence! Doesn’t it irk you how this little elfling has to take the show?” He drags the edge across her skin, making a thin cut. Blood bloomed upon the wound but she hardly moved. “Not going to defend yourself, _da’len_? You look good enough to ravish already,” He runs his tongue along her lips.

 

His free hand settles on her shoulder while everyone else watch on. However this time the female did speak, “If you will not cease your yapping, I will stab you and drag the dagger down to your pelvis so your guts spill out.”

 

Argus staggers back as her words filled the clearing. The other hunters chuckle nervously and he shot each one of them. The veiled threat in her words was not so hidden. Tamlen stepped towards the two, eager to stop the unneeded banter but Argus was adamant. He presses the dagger upon her neck, letting the blade dig deeper.

 

“Why do you all laugh? Did you truly think it was funny?” He grins, a mad glee in his eyes. “You’re so full of yourself. Let’s see what you can do without our Goddess watching.” He proceeds to trail his fingers to the ribbons holding her armor to her body. He licks his lips as he drags his digits down, eyeing the precious laces but her fingers catch his. Her silver eyes glint in the moonlight, a sharp edge in them.

 

“I was serious when I told you that I will stab you.” Her fingers twist his hand and he wails in pain. The dagger falls from his limp hands and he drops to his knees. With her feet, she picks the bloodied dagger with her toes. Lavellan bends down to reach for the weapon, her hands curled around the soiled hilt. “Fancy blade. Pilfered from one of your trysts with the priests?”

 

He cried out as her fingers drove his wrist at an awkward angle. “No answer? Pity.” The blade dangles from her fingers, the tip of the dagger dripping her blood on his shoulder. “What I said is true. Shall I stab you now?” She raises the dagger above her head as Argus cowers beneath her. Male voices cry out in shock and tried to soothe her.

 

“Lavellan.” The hand stills mid-air and she turns to the owner of the voice. An wizened hunter, the vallaslin hiding the deep lines of his age. Dark hair like that of the night with slivers of gray crowned his head as scars littered his sun-kissed skin. He held his hands up, as if trying to soothe her. “ _Da’len_ , there is no need for violence. The goddess will be displeased with you.”

 

Lavellan lowers the dagger and releases Argus. A collective sigh erupts from the group and they shuffle away from the scene. Tamlen sends her a frustrated gaze before he too leaves with the onlookers. The wizened hunter stays for a while, a grim look on his face as Lavellan made her way towards him.

 

“Bael.” She spoke his name. It was his own name, not the one he inherited. He had watched over her as a child but her kinship towards him was that of a fellow hunter. Argus scampered to his feet, cradling his injured wrists. His earth brown eyes filled with hate as he spat his words, “You’ll curse the day that you were born, Lavellan!”

 

He scampers off, trying to reunite with the hunters who had already left him. The older male makes his way to the injured huntress. Her smaller hands are clasped at the cut. “You are bleeding _da’len_.” His eyes are concerned as his hand is reaching out towards her. She swats it away, a lethal edge in her eyes at the wary touches that the men seem too keen on bestowing upon her.

 

“A flesh wound, Bael. I won’t die from such a petty cut.” She spoke in a cold voice as they made their way out. Her palms are painted red with crimson, reminding her so much of the Halla’s blood that streaked her skin. A torn cloth was shoved into her bloodied hands and when she looked up, Bael was striding away.

 

She casually covers the wound and follows after the elf as her stomach growled in protest.

 

…

 

The halls are alight with the flaming braziers, the wisps of flames coiling in delight of the kindlings. The long table settled in the middle of the wide arched hall was delightfully covered in an intricately woven cotton in floral designs. Lavellan almost felt sorry for it as the hunters engorged on the spiced Halla meat served for the night.

 

Andruil has her own share, eating like the Goddess as she is with her plateful of meat. Wine was passed around by eager hands but the young elf did not drink much to drive her to intoxication.

 

“Lavellan.” Andruil’s calm yet stern voice rose above the ruckus and the huntress paused. Silver gaze found exquisite emerald, they held a certain annoyed glaze in them. “What is with those bandages upon your neck, _da’assan?_ ” She juts her chin out signalizing to the fresh wrappings around Lavellan’s neck.

 

“A mere mishap, _ma uth’renas_.” She spoke calmly but did not provide more answers. Her response did not please the elven goddess and no sooner she was behind Lavellan. Rough hands pulled the younger elf’s face upwards and sharp nails raked down her throat.

 

“You are not telling me the truth, _da’len._ ” The table was now filled with silence as the silverware clattered, wine spilled staining the pristine cloth red. “Do tell me, child.” Her voice was thick, savory with lust as Andruil’s lips breathed upon her ear.

 

“Argus.” The name was spoken softly but to everyone in the table, it was a cry. The elf stood from his seat, eyes wide with the revelation. “ _Ma uth’renas_. It is not I. There truly was no fault in my actions.” He shrinks under the Immortal’s gaze, her green gaze like poison.

“Argus. What have you done? Have I not made clear not one shall damage Lavellan?” She slips her hands from Lavellan’s neck and she slipped behind Argus. So sudden, the movement so fluid they didn’t even catch her.

 

Smooth arms wrapped around Argus’ abdomen and Andruil’s lips pressed upon his neck, “You’ve been wary, Argus. Is there something that I have done to offend you?” He nervously swallows the bile that rose up his throat, “Of course not Lady Andruil.” Her hands raked down his abdomen, pushing his robes aside. Her palms met warm skin and every male swallowed thickly.

 

Servants never ceased in serving wine but their eyes shifted away from the spectacle. Lavellan resumed her eating, intent to finish her meal. Tamlen pursed his lips at how Andruil’s hands roamed Argus’ chest. He swallowed thickly as he imagined her own hands on his but shook the lustful thoughts away.

 

“ _Ma uth’renas._ ” He stood from his seat, albeit with much difficulty. “I believe we can… we can settle this matter after dinner.” He slumps back down to his seat, clearly spent at the effort of talking back to the goddess. A hunter to his side clamps a reassuring hand upon his shoulder.

 

Immediately, her hands fell and she stepped away from Argus, feigning a weak look upon her face. “Ah, Tamlen, ever the sound of reason. Indeed, I have spoilt your dinner, my beloved hunters.” She lets out a pained moan that makes everyone stiffen, “I shall see you all.”

 

She quickly steps away from the dining hall but not before pausing by the entrance. She cocked her head to the side, the moonlight reflected on green irises. “Lavellan, come.” The young elvhen rises from her seat, her plate empty of the dinner she picked out. Quietly, the archer walks to the immortal’s side.

 

A sharp slap bounces through the walls as Andruil’s palm met Lavellan’s branded cheek. The flesh flushed red at the strike but the young archer did not utter a cry. She was cold, silent and waiting as her skin burned under the assault. “You do understand why, do you not _da’assan?_ ”

 

“Yes, my goddess.” She dropped her gaze to the floor as Andruil’s hands cradled her face. Willowy fingers mapped out her tattoos, tracing them lovingly, “Do not lie to me again, _da’len._ Let this be a lesson.” She kisses Lavellan upon her forehead, then her temple and finally upon the swollen cheek. The prized pet hardly shifted her features as Andruil drew back and proceeded to her quarters.

 

She glanced at the dark hallways, noting the seductive sway of Andruil’s lips. She stepped away from the entrance and shifted her gaze to the seated men. They let out sighs of relief and patted Tamlen’s back, commending him for his brave act.

 

“Where have you fallen now, Lavellan?” Argus' loud voice rose from the laughter but she merely gawked at him. Her impassive look causes him to laugh awkwardly. He resumes his dinner and Lavellan makes her way towards her quarters with the stinging pain of her cheek as her company for the remainder of the night.

  
_Tonight will be another red night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to write because I was like damn, what do we do next? But I thought you'd get a little insight on what the trades are within Andruil's eyes. Don't worry, more Fen'Harel x Lavellan scenes to come. I wanted to show Andruil's borderline insanity. 
> 
> If you're familiar, she does go to the Dark Ones a number of times before she becomes insane. This is set before she becomes mad, she's getting there. I'm also really serious that in this fic Andruil does stuff behind the doors with her hunters, so here it is.
> 
> I'm really interested to know how the new chapter was in your thoughts. All the comments are welcome! I really need to improve my writing after all. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. I Feel the Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More insight on Lavellan's bloodthirsty attitude.
> 
> WARNING: VIOLENT GORE. If you're squeamish, this might be a little too gory. GORE. GORE. I DARESAY, there's GORE. 
> 
> PS. I didn't intend it to be long. ; w ;

**Chapter 6: I Feel the Adrenaline Moving Through My Veins**

 

She leans by the wall, letting the candlelight paint shadows on her branded face. The strong musk of sweat and pleasure hung in the quarters as the cries of passion filled the night. Bodies slick with sweat and the velvet sheets pushed to the side was the spectacle for tonight. However, they did not interest Lavellan. She mildly watched the way Argus’ face contorted at the height of his emotions.

 

“If it does not interest you, why are you here?” Tamlen's cool voice broke through her reverie and she found him idly leaning as she was.

 

“Why are you interested in knowing? In fact, I’m quite surprised you are not joining the others in the usual tryst tonight.” Her silver eyes leer at him, confused at his indifference to the evening’s activities. “It’s unusual that you’re not the first to jump into her arms.”

 

He arched a dark brow at her, “I did not know you had such a poor opinion of me, _da’len._ In fact, if you seem too eager to have me partake of tonight’s tryst.” He pushes himself off the wall and traps her against it. His long arms bar her exit from both sides while he towered over her, hiding the light from the candles and hiding the bodies from her view, “I did not expect you to be so eager.”

 

His voice is husky as his breath tickles her ear. His hands inched closer to her body, his lips descending to hers. Before he could even touch her, her hand pressed upon his mouth. Her palm was clammy against his flesh but her eyes held a sharp edge. Liquid silver like the moonlight reflected on a dagger.

 

“Try if you must but I will not stop myself from gouging your eyes out in return.” She pushes him off easily and stumbles back. A shudder coursed down his spine both out of fear and arousal. Lavellan was never the conventional type and try as he must to hate her, he intrigue Tamlen more than he would let on.

 

“You can always try to gouge them, Lavellan.” He spoke to her retreating figure, “But I cannot say you will be successful.”

 

She stops in her steps before she looks at him over her shoulder. A rare smile graces her lips but the cunning edge of her gaze was still there. “You forget Tamlen, I always aim to be successful.”

 

With a bow, she sauntered off; away from the cries of passion that sung their notes of pleasure to the young night.

 

…

 

The whetstone in her fingers was a comfort. She drags the arrow tip down, sharpening the metal with each stroke. The cold night wind entered her room through the large windows. The drapery swings to the direction the wind weaves around her room while the moonlight filtered unto the marble floors.

 

She examines the metal tip with the moonlight, satisfied at the sinister glint on its surface. She places the polished arrow back into the quiver as her hands sought for another one. She runs the arrowhead along the stone once again, noting each edge to be buffed.

 

Tonight was another ordinary night of sharpening her blades. Oh, how wrong she was.

The doors to her quarters burst open and Argus, bare-chested with a deep purple robe tied around his waist. He is out of breath, hands pressed against the imposing doors beside him. His skin is slicked with sweat and as soon as he recovers his breath, he lets a grin lighten his features.

 

He strode towards her, hoisting her up by her arm. “Come with me, _da’len._ There is something the goddess has tasked me to do with you.” He drags her by her feet, eyes flashing in annoyance at his intrusion. She waves her arm off his grip and stood her ground, “What is your purpose here, Argus? Do you not tire of your ires at me? You use the goddess name in vain, how pompous of you.”

 

Her articulate tongue lashed at the hunter, she was clearly showing her standing towards the male.

 

His pupils narrowed and he gripped her arm, this time much forceful than before. “You think so high of yourself, child. Remember, we hunters have been trained by the goddess before you.” She reaches out to her ironbark bow but it lips from her fingers. She quickly fishes out two arrows from the pile where she sat previously.

 

Argus stalked along the halls, they were very empty. Not even a foot soldier was in the vicinity but that was not new, they were elsewhere as Andruil devoured much of the pleasure. The lights from the braziers painted dark silhouettes on the walls. Their steps echoed around the walls as he guided her towards the entrance.

 

“Argus. Where are we headed?” She spat at him, eyes flashing in anger as he dragged her towards the lush foliage. Her bare feet tried to find leverage on the stone steps but he tugged her on. At these times, Lavellan cursed at how petty her strength was against the males. With each step he took, he brought them farther and farther from the temple.

 

Her bare feet met the cool ground, parched dry from the hot day. The grass feels so foreign under her steps and the forest has more whispers than the evening held. The stars are glinting in the night sky as the white sheen of the moon provided an eerie glow.

 

They maneuvered through the trees, stepping over roots as the august rams hid behind the tall bushes. Their dark clops pawing on the ground in anticipation as the two hunters passed by their spot. Some of the nocturnal birds sang songs to the night, trying to stifle their loud heartbeats.

 

“I understand that this task is dire but it would benefit us if you could release my arm. I am not incapable of walking.” Lavellan spoke through gritted teeth, her intense glare directed at the hunter before her. They paused in their path as a concentrated look appeared on his features. He slackened his grip letting the younger hunter adjust her grip on her arrows. “Why should I let you?” His voice breaks through the melody.

 

A sigh escaped her lips, if only a mere gaze could kill. “I am curious what this whole adventure is therefore you do not need to worry if I escape. We know these woods to well.” She spoke and a smirk flit to her features, “Besides, I would provide a handicap so you can find me easily.”

 

He gritted his teeth and was about to backhand the younger hunter. However he thought otherwise, he did not want to summon Andruil’s wrath. He had wounded Lavellan the first time but she did not punish him so there must be something more in store should he hurt Lavellan again.

 

“All right.” He proceeds to walk in front of her, following an invisible path along the shrubbery. “Let us make haste; it looks like it will rain tonight.”

 

Tall trees that stretched towards the sky and bushes filled with poison and berries lined their path. They did not take any breaks but as soon as barefeet met stone, Argus let out a sigh. The stone pathway led to the temple of various eluvians was lush with flora. They walked along the jagged stone paths, carefully of the various shrubs around them. The night's eerie melody was unsettling Argus as he shifted around the area yet Lavellan was hardly fazed.

 

Fireflies darted here and there, their soft flow providing a sense of reprieve in the blanket of night. They hovered around small blossoms of moonflowers, the vine snaking around the stone columns.

 

"What is this task that the Goddess has spoken of?" Her cool tone was a chilling addition to the melody. They stepped around the thorn bushes, barefeet barely missing the spikes. They continued on to their ascent, the scenery proving to be more familiar than ever.

 

"She spoke of this majestic beast in the woodland. If I succeed in killing it, I shall replace you as her prize.” He speaks with such confidence. The female elf studies his experience, there was no fault in his face; it is true then. "However, I must bring you. For only you know of where the beast is."

 

She chuckled; she had an inkling what _it_ would be but dared not to elaborate. No sooner the stone columns towered above them, their structure commanded grace. There were no eluvians here, only bare stones and torn columns. The wind swept against them, cold and foreboding.

 

“There is no creature here.” Argus spoke, eyes surveying the decaying glory around them. Indeed, it was empty and quiet, too quiet. She walks around, bare feet prodding on loose stones. “Perhaps it will come later. Will it?”

 

“Perhaps it will, perhaps it will not.” She could feel the staleness of the air. Rain would fall soon.

 

“Perhaps, we can kill some time before the beast appears.” Argus was standing in front of her, his eyes devious. He was still barechested while the wind toyed with the fabric along his waist. He strode to her, malicious eyes studying her body.

 

“Do tell me Argus, why are you dressed as such if you were to battle a beast?”

 

He pauses and chuckles at the question, “A beast to best? Ha! Our goddess has spoken of it, a meek creature. One who sees goodwill will see no harm but if the soul is tainted, the darkness will tear it apart.” He gripped her forearms and pressed her against a wall, his frame tall and imposing.

 

“Do you truly think you are pure-hearted? Truly?” Her bare hand encircles one of the wrists and she pulls on it. “Maybe the beast is not so easy to slay. Bare hands? You’re quite arrogant.”

 

His grip on her arms tightened, they would surely bruise but she didn’t care. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a sick desire to paint her surroundings red crossed her mind. He sneered at her, “You talk so big for a young one. What does the goddess truly see in you? I can shoot an arrow as well as you can.”

 

His hand rose to her neck, closing around her windpipe. She gasped, the precious air being stolen from her. She struggled in his grip while he grinned at her, “You will meet your end. I shall tell out goddess you fell to the beast. I shall ascend to your place after all.” He chuckled; mad with glee at the thought.

 

She smirked at him, “Petty, petty fool.” She slammed her palm on his face, catching him off guard. With Argus still confused, Lavellan stab him in the chest with the arrows in her hand. He let out a loud cry and staggered backwards.

 

He grasped the arrow and wrenched it out. He threw the offensive item and glared at the female in front of him. The arrows did their damage, the wound was nasty and blood trickled down from it. She had buried the arrows deep, “ _Fenedhis!_ ”

 

Argus lunged towards her but Lavellan ducked and stepped to the side. With her smaller frame she maneuvered from his range and picked up the broken arrows. “You will pay for that.” Argus gave a loud cry and ran to her, fury driving his actions.

 

She stood still, frozen as he neared her. Her silver eyes laced with a red gleam as her features twisted in a sick grin. With a calculated guess, she bent down with the arrows aimed at Argus’ wound. His arms gripped her short hair and pulled her head back but her hands were posed in the right direction. This time she would hit her mark.

 

As soon as he swung his fist backward, she plunged both arrowheads deep. The splinters from the broken wood hardly fazed her. The male hunter coughed out blood but he backhanded her. She staggered backwards as she gripped to one of her arrows.

 

“Argus, what kind of beast were you expecting?” She whispered to the dying man, her feet painted red with blood but he did not answer her. His voice was gone as he watched in horror at the blood dripping down her weapon.

 

“You’re bleeding, Argus.” She taunts, pressing a hand to her tender cheek. He spits out the blood from his mouth and he swayed. Rain started to pour around them and slowly the light fabrics she wore were tinted a dark hue.

 

Blood trickled down with rain as Argus drew tried to stay upright. He gawked at Lavellan, hardly fazed by the damage she had caused. _Insolent child._ His mind screamed the words, a comfort to the confusion he was feeling. He lunged at her once again, missing her by a beat. His clothing felt heavy and he felt his feet slide on the stone floor.

 

“You insolent elf! You should never have been born!” He cried, pain tearing his senses apart, “Bael should have killed you with your mother.” His bloody hands swiped at thin air, his movements sluggish as the rain started to pour harder.

 

“Indeed.” She spoke as she stood in front of him, the wooden remains of the arrow clutched in her hand, “But who are you to deceive my fate, Argus.”

 

“‘You are a foolish, _da’len._ ”

 

“Do not worry. You are not my _hahren._ ” As she gripped onto the wood, her free hand was her safeguard from Argus’ halfhearted blows. She smiled wickedly at him, “Do you remember what I told you, Argus?” He was silent, eyes failing to see her now.

She hardly cared for his answer anyway. Lavellan gripped the segment and with much strength dragged it down. The metal tip created a path down, letting gore and innards spill out. Blood trickled from his mouth as his body tore apart.

 

He pushed her, his body falling to her side. “You... beast.”  He choked on his blood, coughing the red liquid out of his throat. Torrents cascaded on both of them, envious at how the rain was washing the gore from her hands. He muttered curses, gurgled words; envy so deeply lace in them, he wondered why the gods favored such an elvhen so much. His fading gaze found his killer’s gaze, sharp and cold.

 

Silver eyes shone red in the rain and he truly understood his punishment.

 

Her red hair stuck to her face as the rain washed the blood from her skin. The strong torrent trickled along the deep folds of fabric, bringing the crimson stain down to the earth with them. She smiled against the flow, an odd weight lifted from her shoulders.

 

The huntress raised her arms in abandon, the broken arrow in her hand clattering to the rocky ground. The hunter named Argus lay broken by her side, blood tainting the ground red. His lifeless eyes staring up at the sky as his mouth lay agape in a silent scream.

 

A chuckle slips past her lips before she grips her head.Waves of pain bear down on her and she staggers back, letting a soft whimper into the sound of rain. The whispers are so strong, clawing at her thoughts. Words that were hardly hers echoed in the depth of her mind.

 

 _Breathe Lavellan._ Andruil’s calm voice had told her. _You must use that energy to hunting. Now, da’len. Can you show me how good you are with the bow?_

 

Hearing Andruil’s voice stilled the pain, and slowly Lavellan could feel a sense of longing for her former teacher. _Let not the beast reign you in, Lavellan._

 

She had called it the _beast_ , this strange bloodlust that coursed in her veins. The very demeanor she wears every day. Her former hahren had told her how cold she was, how very lifelike this lust in her eyes were. Sometimes the very monsters she kills have been soaked into her being; coating her in a color that flowed inside her.

 

Soft peals of laughter erupted from her, recalling how her goddess had defined the beast. Majestic. It was anything but such.

 

A twig snaps behind her and immediately she spins to gauge the intruder..

 

Cold blue eyes, confused and intrigue met her own as the rain pelted down on them both,

 

“I did not expect to see you here, Lavellan.”

 

“And I to you, Fen’Harel.”

 

He chuckles at the way his name so crassly spills from her lips. Tonight he had been hoping to relish the strong torrent of rain in his favorite spot. Of course a little detour had been nagging him, lo and behold he stumbles upon her.

 

TheLavellan from this morning.

 

“I am truly surprised know this is how you like your men, _da’assan._ ” He walks around the body, stopping in front of her as his blue eyes took in the mutilated body of the hunter. With a whisper, his fingers were alight with magic. Blue flames licked at his hands, the very fire alight on his fingertips. He flicked his hands and the flames bounced to the corpse.

 

“You always bathe yourself in blood. I’m beginning to think you seek gratification in such.” He muses to himself but the joke was lost to her. Eyes like steel, they followed his movements. The blue flames were reflected into this very same eyes, a gnawing hunger and anger in them.

 

The blue blaze devoured flesh, painting its path black. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air but the rain dissipated the scent. She briefly wondered what kind of flame would survive this torrent of rain but then again, she could never explain magic.

 

Silver eyes focused on the man in front of her. His robes were different from the one during morning; dark olive with golden accents. Branches embroidered on the soak fabric, white threads now gray with rain. She chuckled dryly as her gaze shifted to the burning corpse, “Perhaps.”

 

There’s a red glaze in her eyes, the moonlight was truly not making illusions at the trickster. Before he could stop himself, his lips press upon hers. His hands grasped hers and he pulls her body flushed to his. He breaks the kiss, leaving her lips tingling just as she remembered.

 

“You’re forgetting what I told you? My, how angry would Andruil be at her best student.” He takes her chin in his fingers and he hovered above her. His breath causes her skin to flush and this time she closes her eyes, “Good.”

 

His lips press upon hers and his arms wrapped around her hips, pulling her body closer to his own. When he pulled back, he could not help but smile at her surprised expression. Hands fell back to his side as the Dread Wolf steps away from her. His blue eyes follow the lines on her face, enjoying how they crease at the frown she was making.

 

“Is kissing me that enjoyable?” She asked him once her surprise wore off. Arms crossed over his chest, he was silent as he weighed the words for his answer. “If I say yes, what would you think?”

 

“You’re kissing Andruil’s pet.”

 

“I therefore hope she is not kissing you then.”

 

“Never.” She pauses, letting a thought ran through its course in her mind. “She never finds the need to.”

 

“All the more for me then.” He dips his head another time, a soft peck on her lips.

 

“Indeed.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's actually a surprise that I write gore with the fact that I am hemophobic/hematophobic (fear of blood). If you're wondering why Fen'Harel suddenly showed up, it will be discussed later.
> 
> If you're confused what happened to Lavellan, I'll also discuss that soon. 
> 
> If this chapter was ok or it sucked, let me know with your comments. Criticism is always welcome here.
> 
> I feel that a lot of elements were inspired from RayShippouUchiha's Of Wolves and Lionhearts. I have unconsciously incorporated some values of her story into mine. You guys should try reading the story. :)
> 
> I have to say Sia has a lot of impact on writing this chapter. It's not weird that I played Chandelier and Elastic heart in repeat while writing this, is it? 
> 
> Now I'm off to finish that SMUT prompt that's way overdue. ; w ;


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